


Lingerie

by Reprehensible_Content



Category: Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson
Genre: Begging, Dubious Consent, Father/Son Incest, Implied Sexual Content, Lingerie, M/M, Spring!Joxter, Winter!Snufkin, physical violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-10-28 08:17:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20775425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reprehensible_Content/pseuds/Reprehensible_Content
Summary: Joxter has to try to find a way to save a small creature from his son





	Lingerie

**Author's Note:**

> Usual warnings apply, lads. Don't read if this is likely to upset you.
> 
> In this AU, Joxter is a spring sprite who grows flowers in his hair which reflect his mood. Snufkin is a harbinger of winter and death.

It was quiet in the kitchen. He knew that this was almost certainly a bad thing; Snufkin had been in a foul temper recently, and even his most skilful ministrations hadn’t been able to appease him. He lived in constant fear of waking up with the decapitated body of some innocent woodland creature sprawled out next to him on the pillow.

Despite this, the Joxter hummed a lilting tune as he washed dishes, the repetitive action meditative enough to lull a little crop of violets to blossom at his brow. It was menial, certainly, but it afforded him the luxury of his own company; here he could daydream about a better life – what life would be like when he finally escaped.

He was wrenched out of reverie by the sound of high-pitched screeching. Snufkin, his own, had stormed into the kitchen to pin a wriggling mass down onto the kitchen table.

“Pass me a knife,” he ordered, motioning at his father while keeping his eyes trained on his quarry.

“A what?” His first instinct had been to flinch, but he repressed it. Instead he took a tea towel off the side and dried his paws methodically.

“You heard me,” his son hissed.

“Hmm.” He felt his stomach tighten on a draw string, “What have you got there?”

He strolled over, feigning nonchalance, to lean on the back of a chair. He looked down to see a small sprite struggled desperately under Snufkin’s hand. It had multiple legs, like some form of insect; indeed, looking again, Joxter could see delicate gossamer wings which had become crushed between Snufkin’s fingers.

It stopped kicking when it saw him, eyes wide with fear and, even worse, hope. Joxter swallowed.

“I see. And why do you have this?”

“I’m going to cut its legs off,” his son explained, completely devoid of emotion. “One by one.”

He grimaced against rising nausea. “And why do you want to do that?”

To his dismay, Snufkin only shrugged.

“I want to see what will happen.”

“I suspect that will kill it.”

“Then it will die.”

They stared at one another steadily, the silence only broken by the sobs of the little creature under Snufkin’s paw.

“Pass me a knife, Papa.” His voice has that level, even tone which indicated that his temper was on the verge of slipping.

Without retort, Joxter turned back to the counter; but instead of fetching a knife as requested, he went to the linen drawer instead and retrieved a little pouch.

“Why don’t let that poor thing go?” he suggested, fishing through the contents of the bag.

The ensuing silence was so utterly deadly that it made his every nerve flutter.

“I’m sorry,” his son said, stone cold and lethally quiet. “What?”

“You heard me,” he quipped, almost cheerfully, as he returned to the table. “Let the little chap go now, there’s a good lad.”

He knew that this was like goading an angry bull; that was his plan. Distraction techniques. He wandered just close enough for Snufkin to seize his collar with his free hand and drag him in close.

“How _dare_ you speak to me like that?” he spat into his face.

“I just think it would be a good idea, is all.” Joxter raised peaceable hands.

“Oh? And why is that?”

“Because if you kill it, then I would be too upset to wear this.”

He allowed the contents of the bag to drop out onto the table where Snufkin could see them and was gratified by a sharp intake of breath.

The bag contained a lingerie set which he had acquired on the sly for exactly such a situation as this. It was a gorgeous piece, black satin brocaded with a forest of delicate green leaves, studded about with little red florets. It would look lovely on him, which was a shame, because he would have liked so much to have worn it with someone he actually wanted to sleep with.

“You know how much these things distress me,” he drawled, lifting a paw to trace light circles against the hand holding his coat.

Snufkin smirked. “You really think that’s going to stop me?”

“No, probably not,” his father admitted. “But what might stop you is something a little, oh, distracting, maybe?”

He sank to his knees, rolling his shoulders in a feline motion. A flurry of flirtatious purple carnations sprouting up to crown his head.

“You want me to dress up for you? You want your daddy all pretty when you fuck him?”

Snufkin’s façade remained impassive, but he noticed a quirk of the lips which indicated that his resolved was weakening.

“I can beg for you, if you like.”

He watched him breath in deeply. That was a good sign. Keep going.

He reached up to cling to the fabric of his son’s smock. “Please, Snufkin. Oh _please_, won’t you fuck me…”

He was entirely unprepared when Snufkin grabbed a fistful of his hair, making him shriek.

“If you’re going to beg, then mean it.”

Joxter whimpered, eyes smarting at the tightness of the fingers against his scalp.

“Please! Please, Snufkin, I -ah!”

“Go on. I’m listening.”

“Please, Snufkin, I’ll let you fuck me…”

He yowled in pain has his son yanked his head back, sending brambles coursing through his tangled tresses.

“I can fuck you any time I like,” his son’s lips curled into a sneer. “Do better.”

“I’ll… I’ll lie on the bed… let my head hang over the end,” he gasped, fighting to stay in control of his voice. “You can take me… use my mouth…”

“Your mouth?” 

“My throat… you can -ah!- deepthroat me over the edge of the bed…”

The pressure loosened, and he could see a flicker of interest in his boy’s eyes. What with Joxter being bigger than him, there were a few positions which Snufkin liked a lot but couldn’t manhandle his father into adopting. This was one of those.

His eyes were already watering, so in one last-ditch attempt, he let a fat tear roll prettily down his cheek.

“Please, Snufkin…”

That did it. That broke him.

Snufkin lifted the forest sprite off the table and held it up so that it could observe the scene before him.

“This man has just given me his body in exchange for your life,” he remarked coolly. “Isn’t he a saint? Now, what do you say?”

The poor little thing made the mistake of meeting the Joxter’s gaze and immediately began to cry again.

“That’s enough, son,” he said wearily. He felt so tired all of a sudden.

Snufkin snorted and opened his grip to allow the sprite to fall to the ground with a dull thump. It scrambled up, glanced around with terrified eyes, then bolted for the door. Once it realised it wasn’t being pursued, it paused at the door for a heartbeat.

“Thank you,” it whispered.

And then it was gone.

The hand in his hair retreated, shaking petals of dog-rose and briar blossom free to float down onto the wooden floor. He was startled when the lingerie set was thrown crudely into his lap.

He looked up into the cold stare of his son.

“Bed,” said Snufkin. “_Now_.”


End file.
